Say When
by Luna Darkside
Summary: There's no honor among thieves, unless you're Kudou Shinichi. Kaito discovers this the hard way. /ShinKai & KaiShin, criminals!au, oneshot, complete/
_Hello again! I know it's been ages since I last posted fic, but this fic was... hard to write, to say the least. Hopefully you'll see why, if you read it._

 _This started off as a cute criminal AU and was supposed to feature domesticity and cats and general fluff, and then I ruined it. Basically. Yeah._

 _WARNINGS INCLUDE **DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE/TORTURE AND GENERAL CHARACTER TRAUMA.** Beware. Less important warnings include grammar mistakes / errors, surprise angst!, blatant handwaving about injuries and medical things, plot holes that I'm pretending don't exist, mood changes from paragraph to paragraph, etc. Title from The Fray's "Say When" because it fits strangely well._

 _If I haven't managed to scare you off yet, enjoy! - Luna_

* * *

 _i see you there, don't know where you come from_  
 _unaware of a stare from someone_  
 _don't appear to care that i saw you, and i want you._  
 _what's your name?_  
 _'cause i have to know it_  
 _you let me in and begin to show it_  
 _we're terrified, 'cause we're heading straight for it, might get it._

\- the fray, **say when**

* * *

The first time Kaito meets Kudou Shinichi, they're being shot at as they duck through a flea market in Goa, India, because apparently business tycoons don't like being double-crossed by the spies they hire to steal corporate secrets from rival companies. Honestly, what do they expect, though, hiring a group of criminals? Kaito honestly has no idea how they've made CEO if that isn't obvious.

Kaito overturns a rack of brightly colored handbags, not bothering to apologize to the screaming woman manning the booth. He's more concerned with not getting perforated by bullets, as he rather likes his internal organs the way they are.

There's a series of screams behind him and a lot of yelling on the gunmen's part. Kaito swears under his breath as he whips around a table of touristy t-shirts and tries to think of a less populated way to get out of the city and to the safehouse in Vagator. His indecision earns him a bullet graze on the arm, which, _excellent_ ; now he's bleeding on everyone's merchandise, and he liked this shirt, too. Kaito stumbles out of the tented area onto a slightly less populous street, though a man across the dirt road gives him a bewildered look and hurries his children along. And oh, _great_ , there are _children_ , and if Kaito ends up getting a pair of wide-eyed five-year-olds killed in the crossfire, he's _definitely_ going to hell, if larceny and corporate espionage weren't enough to land him there –

A bullet clips the top of Kaito's shoulder, and Kaito lets out an involuntary yelp as footsteps patter closer. The man across the way shouts and tries to drag his children away, but they resist, clearly too curious for their own good. Kaito thinks despairingly, _I'm going to die now and permanently scar some children. This is my legacy._

And then, like every action movie cliché ever, a silver Porsche pulls up out of _literally nowhere_ , the tinted window on the passenger's side rolls down, and the driver, who is predictably the hottest person Kaito has ever seen and is clad in what appears to be a Hugo Boss suit and Ray-Bans, lifts his eyebrows at Kaito and says, sounding bored, "You coming or not?"

Needless to say, Kaito goes.

"Hi," Kaito attempts to purr when they're bouncing down the street, the driver navigating through the narrow streets easily. He grabs at his shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding as they peel around a bend. Chancing a glance over at the man, who, upon closer inspection, is still _fine as hell_ , Kaito asks, "Forgive me for being forward, but, ah, who are you?"

"Kudou," the man replies over the sound of fading gunfire, as if that's explanation enough. Which it – actually is. Kaito goggles at him.

"Is there a reason why you showed up?" he manages. Kudou glances over at him.

"You know Ran? The organizer for this job?" He turns the wheel one-handed, the other reaching up to card through his hair. Kaito stares unabashedly. He's like a living Armani advert. All he's missing is an attractive, ornamental girl draped over him. "She called in a favor and asked me to pick you up."

"Oh," Kaito responds. "Well, thanks. Sorry you had to see me in such an unsightly state. Usually I try to make a better impression." He winces, tightening his hold on his shoulder. "Or, well, a more competent one, at least."

"Don't worry about that," Kudou says. "Worry about getting blood on the seats. I just got everything reupholstered."

"Can't afford to get it done again, darling?" Kaito snipes, even as he tries to check if he's already smeared red all over the leather. He's pretty sure he has. "Corporate espionage not paying the bills?"

"It's expensive to live in Tokyo," Kudou answers. He's wearing a wristwatch, which is patently ridiculous in this day and age but also weirdly attractive. "And I've got two cats to support. So yes, you could say that."

Alarmingly, Kaito can't tell if he's being serious. "Are you joking?" he finally asks after a long pause.

Kudou doesn't say anything, but his mouth might curl up on one side. It's hard to tell, what with the blood loss and general wooziness Kaito's experiencing. Kaito settles back into his seat and lets his eyes close.

He wakes up in the safehouse with Ran, the terrifying and beautiful job organizer, and Hakuba, the world's most annoying point man, standing over him. His arm and shoulder are bandaged properly. Kudou is nowhere in sight. The only proof that Kaito ever met him is the ridiculously high bill he receives a few weeks later from a professional upholstery in Nagoya.

Kaito pays it, in the end, mostly in the hopes that maybe Kudou will respond somehow. He gets a postcard of the Bell Tree Tower a few days later. All it says is " _thanks_ " in neat lettering, done in black ballpoint pen. Kaito frames it and leaves it up on the wall in his Los Angeles safe house.

* * *

In their world of espionage and other illegal operations, everyone's got a reputation. (Kaito knows his own is probably perplexing to a lot of people, considering word's gotten around that he's the former Kaitou Kid and all.) Kudou Shinichi is no exception. Well, not to the reputation part. The _content_ of his reputation is an exception.

Kudou Shinichi used to be a police officer, Kaito's heard. Kudou Shinichi hides poisoned spikes in his brogues and tranquilizer darts in his watch and tracking devices in his glasses. Kudou Shinichi has never been seen in anything other than his particular brand of business casual. Kudou Shinichi is versatile: he can handle, run point, organize, disguise, oversee tech. Kudou Shinichi once successfully landed a plane on a freeway in Quebec with no casualties. Kudou Shinichi is secretly married to Mouri Ran, infamously meticulous organizer with a job success rate of 100%. Kudou Shinichi is secretly married to Hattori Heiji, notoriously hotheaded point man. Kudou Shinichi has a network of illicit lovers stretching across the globe. Kudou Shinichi is a myth.

The most interesting rumor, in Kaito's opinion, is that Kudou Shinichi doesn't kill. In fact, Kudou Shinichi goes to great lengths to prevent the death of anyone – Aoko, a handler Kaito used to frequently work with until she married Hakuba and he lost respect for her, claims that she once witnessed him diving out of a helicopter sans parachute to save a hired thug who'd shot and killed two of their team members. Kaito thinks that in their line of work, that kind of morality is insane and ridiculous and also incredible.

Nobody mentioned, however, that Kudou Shinichi was as hot as he is. Kaito thinks that's a little unfair.

* * *

Ran calls Kaito up a few months later just as he's checking into the Palais de Chine Hotel in Taipei after successfully getting the design specs of a new tablet-laptop from a tech startup in Silicon Valley.

"I've got a job," she informs him the second he picks up the phone. Kaito doesn't even bother trying to find out how she got his number when he changes it weekly. Ran is scary and knowledgeable like that. She's also scary in a "Kaito once watched her break a man's tibia with the heel of her stiletto and keep walking" way, but that's irrelevant.

"Whatever happened to inquiring to the state of my health and exchanging pleasantries before making demands?" Kaito asks, mostly to be obnoxious. He tosses his battered duffel bag onto the bed and stops in front of the bathroom mirror to poke at the bags underneath his eyes. Time zones are a bitch.

"I didn't want to waste international minutes on things I don't care about. You know, like the state of your health," Ran says, sounding bored. Kaito makes an affronted noise as she continues, "I've got a job. It's in Tokyo. We're getting some plane designs from a private defense contractor. Are you in?"

"Sounds fun. Why do you need a disguise?" Kaito asks as he mentally calculates how much latex and paint he has left in his bag. He'll probably need to restock if he takes the job.

"We're thinking we have you disguise as his secretary and get the designs that way. It's a pretty small job, just you, me, my tech, and my point man, and it shouldn't take too long. Maybe two weeks at most," Ran responds. There's sound of metal scraping metal and the clink of bullets. Kaito thinks she might be cleaning a gun. "You in or not? I'm not wasting anymore minutes if you're not."

"As if you can't afford it," Kaito scoffs. Ran makes a "you're right because we're both sitting on a lot of illegally earned money but I'm going to act as if you're not for the sake of my pride" sound.

Kaito pretends to think about it. "I suppose I could carve some time out of my busy schedule," he agrees after a minute. Ran snorts and hangs up on him. A few minutes later, as Kaito is washing his face with the hotel's herbal soap, his phone beeps with the arrival of his flight details, followed by a confusing winking emoji. Kaito is a little concerned.

* * *

For the most part, Kaito is not easily surprised. He's got a sixth sense for knowing when he's being played, when he should quietly pack his things and take the next flight to Argentina, and when he should stop flirting with the girl in the bar because she's definitely wearing an ankle holster.

However, he apparently lacks a sixth sense for knowing when Kudou Shinichi is standing on the other side of a door, because when Kaito opens the door to the hotel room that Ran is calling their headquarters for the duration of the job and comes face to face with Kudou Shinichi, he makes an undignified sound and drops his bag on his own foot, breaking his own toe.

The only way that could've been more embarrassing, Kaito thinks as Kudou fusses with the stack of pillows he's set underneath Kaito's swelling foot and goes to retrieve more ice, is if Kaito had broken _Kudou's_ toe. _That_ would've been worse.

Ran hasn't stopped laughing for about ten minutes. She's collapsed in one corner of the room. Every now and again she makes a sort of wounded animal noise and starts shaking again. Kaito sighs and amends his earlier statement. Nothing is worse than this.

Kudou comes back into view, holding the ice bucket and another towel. He's wearing a pale blue oxford with the sleeves cuffed past his elbows and a spectacularly tailored pair of pants that cling lovingly to him. His expression is remorseful. Kaito sort of wants to die.

"Sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to," he apologizes for probably the third time, looking at Kaito from under his eyelashes as he wraps a handful of ice cubes in the towel and sets them on top of Kaito's ankle.

"It's not your fault," Kaito grumbles and debates whether he could smother himself with a pillow without anyone noticing. Probably not.

It's at this moment that the door to the hotel room creaks open. Kaito looks over long enough to see a light-haired woman standing in the doorway – he thinks her name might be Miyano, and she's a tech, if he recalls correctly. He doesn't think he's worked a job with her before, but apparently Kudou has, because he turns to smile welcomingly at her.

 _Hey_ , says an indignant voice at the back of Kaito's mind, _I don't like that_.

"Miyano," Kudou grins, and Miyano gives him a flat, unimpressed look as she kicks the door behind her.

"Kudou-kun," she responds, placing her hands on her hips. She's very pretty, in an angular, vaguely annoyed sort of way, Kaito thinks as she turns her dead-eyed glare on him. "You're Kuroba-kun, I suppose." She eyes his foot with one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. "What happened to you?"

"There was an incident," Kaito says. Miyano doesn't look convinced, but she glances over at Ran. Her eye twitches.

"What's wrong with Mouri-san?"

"I'm fine," Ran chokes out as she claws her way off the patch of carpet she'd collapsed on. She's completely red in the face, and her mascara is running. Uncharitably, Kaito thinks that she looks like a panda, and then he starts to feel both guilty _and_ embarrassed. "I'm fine, just Kuroba-kun broke his –"

"Anyway," Kaito cuts in. "Now that we're all here, let's get into the briefing and pretend I didn't break my own toe."

"You broke your own _toe_?" Miyano asks, her tone conveying paragraphs upon paragraphs of incredulity, complete with footnotes and MLA citation.

Groaning in horror, Kaito grabs a pillow and smacks himself in the face with it.

"Hey, no, it was my fault," Kudou insists, tugging the pillow from Kaito's hands. He's frowning. It's sickeningly adorable, if a man in a silk oxford can qualify as adorable. "Don't take it out on yourself."

Kaito sinks down into the bed and prays quietly for spontaneous death.

* * *

The job, as it turns out, isn't difficult. At least, the prep isn't. Miyano has the earpiece and brooch-mounted camcorder ready within the first two days and spends the rest of the week lounging around reading _ViVi_ and looking bored. Ran works out how they're going to occupy the woman Kaito's supposed to impersonate for the duration of the job, which is by offering her a weekend stay at a hot springs resort in Aomori via a fictitious supermarket raffle.

Kudou does some incomprehensible things with his laptop and gets Kaito a lot of high-quality photos of the woman he's disguising as in addition to some clips of her voice, all the while being thoroughly gorgeous and devastatingly easy to look at. He apparently has a tendency to buy pants in one or more sizes too small, a fact that Kaito has noticed through… observation.

He also buys Kaito lunch. A lot. All in the name of apologizing for the toe incident, which Kaito has insisted isn't his fault about a million times.

"Do you like pad thai?" Kudou asks once when he walks into the hotel room around noon. Miyano is listening to music with noise-canceling headphones and painting her nails. The whole room smells like nail polish fumes, which Kaito would complain about if he wasn't so impressed with the tiny cat faces she's painted on her thumbs. Ran is nowhere in sight – she'd _said_ she was going to go finish arranging reservations for the resort, but Kaito knows she finished that yesterday, so he really has no idea what she's up to.

"I do, yeah," Kaito agrees, looking up from the latex mask of Aoyagi Machiko (thirty-one, secretary to the CEO of Yoshida Engineering) that he's been painting. He sets down his brush to smudge at the left cheekbone. "Did you bring some?"

"Mmhm." Kudou sets a bag on the table beside the mask and sits down beside Kaito. He's close enough that Kaito can smell his cologne, something vaguely floral (jasmine?) underneath mint and cedarwood. "I brought pad see ew and fried rice, too."

"Thanks, darling. Although honestly, you don't need to keep bringing me food," Kaito tells him as he digs a box of pad thai out of the bag. "It really wasn't your fault."

"I just wanted to," Kudou replies, suddenly fascinated with the edge of one sleeve. He unbuttons it at the wrist to cuff it up his arm. Kaito watches, mouth going dry around a piece of tofu. It's almost like a weird, chaste striptease, which sounds ridiculous until you realize just how borderline pornographic Kudou's forearms are. "And, uh, it's not just for you. I can have the fried rice and Miyano can have the pad see ew."

Kaito manages to swallow, feeling a little disappointed. For a second, he'd almost thought that Kudou had bought all three dishes just because he hadn't known which one Kaito would like, which is a ridiculous notion and overall a reflection of his patheticness.

"You and Mouri-san are close, aren't you?" he says after a second, chewing a bean sprout. "You call her by her first name." If Kaito thinks about it, he doesn't know anyone else who does that in their business. It's too personal of a sentiment, usually, in a profession that always has you always half-convinced someone's going to double-cross you. A lump rises in his throat.

"Ran? I guess," Kudou hedges, tipping his head back. He's got a nice neck. "We're childhood friends. I got into the business first, and then she followed after."

"Are you…" Kaito waves his chopsticks in a way that hopefully conveys "secretly married." He can't bring himself to say it. Kudou blinks at him for a long moment, clearly bewildered.

"Are we…?"

"You know. An… item," Kaito elaborates, and then immediately wishes he'd picked a less elementary-school term. He might as well have handed Kudou a "Do you like me? Check 'yes' or 'no'" note. He coughs and stirs his pad thai with a lot of concentration.

"Are Ran and I… dating?" Kudou clarifies before he starts laughing. The only thing more attractive than Kudou Shinichi, Kaito thinks dreamily, is Kudou Shinichi when he laughs, even when he's laughing at Kaito.

When Kudou has finished practically crying, he straightens and grins at Kaito. There are tears at the corners of his eyes. Kaito stares. "No, we're not dating. In fact, Ran has a girlfriend here in Tokyo. That's where she went today, in case you were wondering."

"Really?" Emboldened, Kaito asks, "Do _you_ have a girlfriend here in Tokyo?"

"No," Kudou tells him, leaning in. He's still smiling faintly, and looking directly at him is not entirely dissimilar to looking into the sun. Kaito feels an urge to squint against the force of his amusement. "No girlfriend." He pauses to look at his hands, a little uncomfortable. "Or boyfriend."

 _Well,_ Kaito thinks a bit dumbly. _That is information. That is… that is definitely information._

"Oh," he says aloud and shovels as much pad thai into his mouth as he can handle as he tries to process that. Kudou looks at him with something like fondness before he goes to give Miyano her pad see ew.

The job goes well, in the end. Kaito gets the designs easily enough – the worst part of the whole thing is trying to fit his bandaged toe into a pair of pointy high-heels as Kudou hovers about and makes concerned noises – and they all meet at Haneda Airport with minimal gunfire. Ran informs them that she'll wire them their earnings after she gets paid. Miyano is headed to New York for a tech convention, Ran to Greece for a vacation, Kaito to France to learn more about a job (apparently some wealthy art collector wants someone to steal the Mona Lisa for him; Kaito plans to turn him down, but he hasn't been to Paris in a while, so he might as well go. He misses authentic baguettes). Kudou is noticeably free of luggage, though.

"Aren't you going to leave?" Kaito asks after Miyano and Ran disappear into the maelstrom of people entering the airport. He hikes his duffle bag higher up his shoulder.

Kudou shakes his head. He's wearing a pea coat today, hands jammed into the pockets, but his cheeks are still flushed with cold. "I'm going home. Rampo and Conan are waiting for me."

For a second, Kaito experiences a strange feeling of horror (does Kudou have a _harem_?) before he remembers that Kudou is supposedly single. But – wait, all he'd said was that he didn't have _a_ boyfriend. Technically, he could have _two_. Kaito clears his dry throat. "Darling, I had no idea you were such a loose man."

Blinking, Kudou lifts an eyebrow. "Rampo and Conan are my cats," he says slowly.

"Right," Kaito replies. There are no words to describe his relief. And then, "You weren't joking about the cats?"

"I never joke about my cats," Kudou sniffs, but he's smiling a little as he waves and leaves, cutting through the crowd with ease. Kaito stares after him until a passing businessman smacks pointedly into him and he quickly turns to enter the airport.

* * *

The next time Kaito sees Kudou is several months later, during a job stealing designs for the fall collection from a fashion designer. Kudou is acting as tech overseer this time. Kaito has fantasies involving earpiece manufacturing for weeks later. The time after that, they're stealing a secret recipe from a chocolate company, and Kudou is his handler. Kaito gets distracted countless times by the sound of Kudou's voice directly in his ear. It's, frankly, a little pathetic, but Kaito dares anyone to try to concentrate with Kudou sensually whispering, "The code for the door is 3581," in their ear.

Point is, they've become friends. Basically.

A few months after the chocolate job, Kaito is involved in a fairly standard operation (trying to get a copy of an unreleased operating system from a technology magnate) when he's double-crossed by his team's organizer. It's kind of Kaito's own fault, though. He should've known not to trust someone who calls themselves Snake and wears fedoras unironically.

He's also bleeding profusely from a bullet to the stomach (once again, courtesy of Snake) and he doesn't know where to go. He doesn't have a safe house in Tokyo, because he has one in Nagano and he thought that would be close enough, and now he's going to bleed out in a dingy alleyway in the middle of Haido City because of that. Excellent.

But then he remembers. Kudou has a safe house in Tokyo. Kudou _lives_ somewhere in Beika, if Kaito's memory serves. Kaito doesn't know if Kudou is on a job right now or not – it's completely possible, because even though Kaito tries to casually keep up with what Kudou's up to (Ran is always suspicious now; she thinks Kaito's planning to order a hit on him), Kudou could have taken a job within the past few days.

It's better than nothing, though, so Kaito levers himself up and works up the strength to pick up his cell phone and call Ran.

"Where does Kudou live," he wheezes once the call goes through.

There's a palpable silence. "Kuroba-kun," Ran begins, "as much as I love you, I love Shinichi more, so I'm not going to make it easy for you to assassinate him. I don't even _know_ why you would want to, considering that all he's ever done is pine after you –"

" _Mouri-san_ ," Kaito chokes out, clutching at his side as he sways on his feet, "I'm literally about to bleed out and I'm in Haido and I don't have a safe house to go to so could you _please_ tell me where Kudou lives so that I might not die." His voice has gone shrill by the last word.

"Oh," Ran says after a minute, and tells him the address.

It takes an excruciating hour to get to Beika, and Kaito is fairly certain he's left a very obvious trail of blood all over the city. He can't bring himself to care about that, though, not when he's finally pressing the doorbell to the (surprisingly gigantic) Kudou mansion.

He's so light-headed that he misses the sound of the front door opening and the footsteps coming towards him. In fact, Kaito is completely unaware of Kudou approaching until Kudou hisses, "Kuroba? Kuroba!" and grabs at his arm. Kudou makes a sound of horror when he sees the blood soaking Kaito's front, and Kaito stumbles into him ungracefully.

"Kudou," Kaito gasps, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He turns to look at Kudou, who's looking at him with a creased brow and parted lips and general confused concern, thinks helplessly, _God he's so pretty_ , and passes out. Embarrassingly. Into Kudou's arms.

* * *

Kaito wakes to the scent of stale, clean sheets and overbrewed tea. The ceiling above his head is unfamiliar and colored an unattractive shade of grayish beige. When he turns to look around, he's met with walls painted a similarly uninspired eggshell, a mostly shuttered window, a nightstand on his left, and a half-empty bookcase in the far corner beside a potted plant that has definitely seen better, less withered days. Groaning, he tries to sit up only to have his stomach pointedly remind him that there's a literal hole in him at the moment.

Sweating and trying not to cry too obviously, Kaito almost misses when Kudou enters the room. In Kaito's defense, Kudou is wearing soft slippers (with plushy bear heads on them…?) and the floors are hardwood, so it's hard to hear him approaching.

There is also a cat draped casually across his neck, which is. Well. A sight to behold.

"Oh, you're awake," Kudou says, sounding relieved. He sets a new cup of tea on the night table and carefully sits on the edge of the mattress. The cat purrs quietly and rubs its face against his neck, appearing to be sleeping. "I was half-sure you'd died overnight. I was too scared to check." He motions at the cat. "This is Conan, by the way. Rampo is downstairs."

Right. Kudou's pair of cats, which are apparently real.

Looking down, Kaito pushes the covers back far enough to see the stark white of bandages wrapped around his abdomen, receding just before the waistband of his boxers. He reigns in the urge to groan, because he's officially gotten naked in front of Kudou and he wasn't even conscious for it.

"Tea?" Kudou offers. Kaito nods and finally brings himself to look him in the face, only to realize a few things: one, Kudou looks gorgeous in the morning light; two, Kudou is _smiling_ at him; three, Kudou's hair is unstyled and cowlicky, and he's wearing a t-shirt with a duck on it and a pair of sweatpants with a hole over the right knee and a cat. It's insane, considering the last time Kaito saw him, Kudou was wearing a Zegna suit and Burberry oxfords with his hair neatly combed away from his face. It's also adorable, because as hot as Kudou is in a suit, he seems more – _accessible_ like this, more warm and human and real.

"Well, this is a new look," Kaito blurts out, because he's never had the best control over his mouth. Kudou lifts his eyebrows at him even as he appears to be trying to figure out the logistics of helping Kaito drink tea while lying down.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you aware," Kaito strains as he hoists himself into a sitting position (Kudou looks horrified, and Kaito's bullet wound feels as if it strongly agrees with that sentiment, but Kaito ignores both of them), "that there are rumors you sleep in a suit, darling?"

"I… was not aware of that." Kudou blinks as he hands Kaito the mug. It's full of jasmine tea, which makes Kaito smile a little as he sips at it. "I sleep in pajamas, actually. I don't actually own that many suits. I just try to wear them to jobs. Professionalism is important, you know."

"Of course," Kaito agrees with a grin, setting the mug on the table. "Thanks for putting up with me, by the way. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I'll admit I was surprised when I found you bleeding all over my doorstep, but it's not as if I was going to just throw you out onto the street. What happened to you, anyway?" There's a crease between Kudou's well-shaped eyebrows. Does he pluck them, Kaito wonders?

"I got double-crossed by an organizer named Snake," Kaito tells him once he stops staring at Kudou's eyebrows. "He wears fedoras and trench coats. I don't know why I trusted him." He thinks Yamamoto – the tech for the job – had suspected something, though, so Snake is probably dead by now, since Yamamoto is over six feet tall and a member of the International Knife Throwers Hall of Fame.

Kudou gives him a sympathetic look. He rubs a hand over Conan's spine. "If it's any consolation, I almost got involved with a group of people who all went by names of alcohols and thought wearing all black and driving flashy cars was appropriate for undercover reconnaissance." He sighs. "If I had joined, I would've been named Absinthe."

"Oh," Kaito says, not entirely sure what the appropriate response to that is.

"Yeah." Kudou makes a contemplative noise. "In the end, I realized they were actually part of a giant crime syndicate and that getting involved with them was probably a bad idea, so I took them down instead."

"You… took them down?" Is there an alternate definition to "take them down," Kaito wonders, because it sounds a bit like Kudou is saying he singlehandedly dismantled a criminal organization. Which. Well.

"Mmhm." Kudou nods pensively. "It took a few years, especially with jobs on the side, but I've gotten about ninety percent of their operatives. I think the CIA and FBI are still cleaning up a few loose ends, though." He turns a grin on Kaito. "Done with your tea?"

"Uh." Kaito manages a weak nod. His brain is doing some complicated gymnastics, trying to reconcile the man wearing a duck shirt in front of him and absently petting a cat with someone who's apparently wiped out the equivalent of the mafia.

"Great," Kudou says and takes the half-full mug from him. "I'll get you some painkillers, now that you're awake." He shuffles off. The bears on his slippers seem to wave at Kaito as he goes.

Kaito despairs, because Kudou Shinichi? Kudou Shinichi was put on this earth to kill Kaito with the sheer force of how _perfect_ he is.

* * *

Shinichi likes to think that he's not entirely clueless. (Somewhere, Ran is laughing hysterically.) And Kuroba Kaito, despite a general lack of flaws, never learned subtlety. Taking both of these facts into account, it's not surprising that Shinichi is very aware that Kuroba finds him physically attractive.

It may just because Shinichi has been enthralled by him since day one, by his endless reservoir of charm and his sporadic _darling_ s, and therefore felt compelled to watch Kuroba closely, but Shinichi realized Kuroba was attracted to him fairly early on. The whole toe incident had been a little telling. There was also the time Shinichi dropped a pen, bent over to pick it up, and turned around to find that Kuroba had tripped over nothing and smacked his forehead against the corner of a coffee table. He'd almost needed stitches.

But here's the thing: It's purely physical. Shinichi _knows_ that people find him attractive for whatever reason (maybe it's the suits? His mother has, on multiple occasions and to Shinichi's horrified " _Mom I don't want to hear that when I'm wearing a suit and talking to you_ ," told Shinichi that men in suits are the equivalent of women in lingerie). And Kuroba has made it pretty obvious that he likes Shinichi's looks, or at least the way he looks from behind. (Shinichi may have started getting his trousers tailored a little tighter to test this hypothesis.)

It should bother Shinichi, the fact that the only reason Kuroba takes an interest in him is because of his appearance. Actually, it _does_ bother Shinichi, a little. But considering he's been half in love with Kuroba ever since the first Kid heist he attended, back when he was sixteen and an aspiring detective, he counts himself as lucky to even be recognized by someone as incredible and talented as Kuroba. Even if it's because Kuroba likes how his face looks or the amount of muscle on his arms. Shinichi is just glad to be noticed.

Ran is and has been up in arms about Shinichi's apparent devaluation of himself, if her passive-aggressive (but mostly aggressive) texts are any indication. Take, for example, the text that Shinichi receives as he's gathering bandages to change the dressing on Kuroba's bullet wound a few days after he opened the door to find Kuroba Kaito leaking blood all over his welcome mat.

 _I'd just like to remind you_ , the text reads in pointedly perfect grammar when Shinichi fumbles for his phone while walking up the stairs, _that Tachibana guy from the Marukawa job is single and still asks about you. xxx Ran._

Sighing, Shinichi manages to juggle a roll of gauze and type back, _that's the guy who's allergic to cats, right._

As if on cue, Rampo skitters out of the bathroom holding what appears to be part of a sink his mouth. He freezes, looking at Shinichi with a distinctly deer-in-the-headlights expression, and then streaks down the hall in a guilty flash of gray. Shinichi sighs and resigns himself to buying yet another faucet.

Ran's reply comes by the time he's reached the top of the stairs. _There are medications for that! And he's got dimples and likes Sherlock Holmes. I don't know what the problem is._

 _he likes the TV show_ , Shinichi is in the middle of tapping out, _he hasn't read the books_ , which is a very, _very_ important distinction, but it's at that moment that Kuroba wanders out the guest bedroom, clutching his stomach and looking like sin, all rumpled bedhead and pained squint. He's also not wearing a shirt, which is a bit distracting.

"Darling, is something wrong?" he asks, sounding strained. Shinichi gapes.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he demands, stuffing his phone in the pocket of his jeans and trying not to sound too much like a panicked kindergarten teacher as he directs Kuroba back into bed. Kuroba goes obligingly, smiling a little as he sits down on the mattress.

"I was just wondering what was taking you so long," he replies, probably aiming for earnest but landing near amused. It seems to be a problem that he has a lot.

"I was talking to Ran and got sidetracked," Shinichi informs him primly as he stops in front of Kuroba to start working on the bandage. He's uncomfortably close to Kaito, close enough that his arm brushes against Kaito's hair when he unwinds the first coil. Kaito's breath is the faintest suggestion against Shinichi's palm when Kaito tips his head to the side.

"About what? My charming disposition?"

"No, about a disguiser we worked with once. She's under the impression that we should go out. Apparently he has dimples," Shinichi answers absently as he dropped the dirty bandages onto the nightstand and began unrolling clean gauze.

He turns back to Kuroba just in time to see Kuroba don an expression that implies he's just tasted something sour.

"Dimples are caused by a defect in facial muscles," he says. "Do you really want to date someone with a deficiency in the zygomaticus major? Are your standards really that low?"

Shinichi blinks.

"I'm just saying," Kuroba adds, looking away in a pseudo-casual way that belies his sullenness. Shinichi definitely shouldn't find it as amusing as he does.

"I don't want to date Tachibana," he responds slowly as he leans over to begin wrapping bandage around the angry red mess of Kuroba's stomach. "I'm too busy taking care of the demanding asshole who got blood on my doormat."

"I'm not demanding," Kuroba whines. He winces when Shinichi plants an elbow on his thigh. "And I'm sorry about the doormat. I'll buy you a new one." He eyes Shinichi's shirt, which is an old "I AM SHERLOCKED" t-shirt that Hattori bought him several birthdays ago. "I can get magnifying glasses on it, if you want. And cats wearing deerstalkers."

"I'll hold you to that," Shinichi sniffs, snipping the gauze at an appropriate length, and Kuroba laughs and then makes an odd gurgling noise when Shinichi pulls the bandage as tight as he can.

* * *

For the longest time, Shinichi has been basically alone, although he'll deny it to Ran's face.

("I have the cats," Shinichi usually says, shifty-eyed, whenever she tries to confront him about his lack of close friendships and/or romantic partners. Ran generally replies via unimpressed staring as she kicks Conan off her suede ankle boot.)

As such, Shinichi isn't used to Kuroba's presence. It's not so bad during the time Kuroba's still bedridden; the little bits of life he leaves are contained to the guest room, dried mugs and a stack of Arsène Lupin novels and wrinkled sheets. Shinichi can sort of pretend there's nothing really out of the ordinary if he stops thinking compulsively about Kuroba and if Kuroba needs more soup or if Kuroba thinks he's hovering or if Kuroba has developed feelings for him beyond aesthetic appreciation of his face.

A week and a half or so after Kuroba's arrival, Shinichi has to go out for groceries. He checks on Kuroba before he leaves – Kuroba is out cold, sleeping on his back with his hair a dark, inky mess on the pillowcase and his chest rising metronome-steady beneath the sheets – and heads for the nearest supermarket. He spends a good thirty minutes choosing mushrooms and another fifteen trying to remember if he has any rice left at home (he ends up buying a bag just to be sure).

Laden with bags, Shinichi gets home about an hour later. He exchanges his shoes for his bear slippers (Ran gave them to him when they were in high school; Shinichi will never understand why, but he'll also never stop wearing them) and walks into the living room. Only to be assaulted by the sight of Kuroba sitting on the floor with Conan and Rampo crawling over him, purring like a two-cat symphony.

Shinichi nearly pulls a Kuroba and drops the milk on his foot, but he manages to cling to the bags as he stares, wide-eyed. Rampo is sprawling across Kuroba's lap as Kuroba pets his stomach. Conan is sitting regally on his head, nestled into his hair. Kuroba looks perfectly serene, somehow, even as Conan jumps off his head and lands on Rampo, resulting in a miniature catfight in the middle of his lap.

"Welcome home," Kuroba says when he realizes that Shinichi is standing in the doorway gaping at them. He grins, and his hair is all messy from when Conan was sitting in it, and the cats are still crawling all over him like particularly clingy leeches, and Shinichi gets a desperate, bottomless feeling in his stomach that means he wants to see this every day.

"Are you going to help me with the groceries?" he demands, mostly to keep himself from smiling too widely. Kuroba angles him an amused look.

"I'm an invalid! I can't."

Shinichi narrows his eyes at him, adjusting a bag where it's cutting into his forearm. "You were well enough to walk down the stairs and play with my cats." He manfully doesn't look as Rampo chews thoughtfully on the waistband of Kuroba's borrowed sweatpants before dragging it down over Kuroba's hipbones.

"You're a tyrant," Kuroba sighs, mock-affronted as he peels Conan off his knee and pokes Rampo until he lets go of his sweatpants. He gets to his feet slowly, wincing as he goes.

"And you're a freeloader," Shinichi points out and flounces off to the kitchen.

Kuroba enters when Shinichi is halfway through unloading a bag of apples into the mainly decorative fruit bowl on the kitchen table. He stands in the doorway for a while, watching Shinichi fuss with the placement of the apples for a few minutes.

"You could help," Shinichi blurts out when he's arranged the same three apples eighteen times and Kuroba hasn't moved. He's pretty sure Kuroba is just staring at his back, which is – it's nice to be appreciated, Shinichi supposes, but still.

"What? Oh. Yeah." Kuroba seems to shake himself before he sets to work putting away the remaining groceries. They work in silence for a good few minutes, Kuroba methodically opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator, Shinichi finally getting the apples into a still life-worthy position. Conan creeps in, winding around Shinichi's ankle a few times before running off. It's peaceful and calm until Shinichi glances over to see Kuroba putting an eggplant into the freezer.

" _Kuroba_."

"I swear it wasn't on purpose, darling," Kuroba tries, but his mouth curves up too much and gives him away. Shinichi stares despondently down at his perfectly arranged apples ( _why_ , he wants to ask the part of his brain responsible for hopeless crushes, _do you think this man is cute?_ ) before he stalks over to put the eggplant into the refrigerator. He ends up having to relocate the rice from the oven to the pantry and the milk from the microwave to the refrigerator while Kuroba snickers at him from a corner.

"You're cooking dinner," Shinichi says in retaliation when he finds the mushrooms under the sink, and Kuroba's face falls.

* * *

Kuroba, as it turns out, can't cook. Shinichi learns this soon enough when the fire alarm goes off and he runs into the kitchen to discover Kuroba staring guiltily into the depths of what was once a pan but now resembles part of a chimney. (They end up ordering takeout.)

But he _can_ bake.

Shinichi discovers this when he takes a local job (some basic reconnaissance at the Nichiuri TV station) and opens his briefcase to find a cupcake in a clear plastic case inexplicably staring up at him. It's got little hearts piped on the top in various frosting colors and it's somehow remained pristine in its box, despite that Shinichi _knows_ he's swung his briefcase around at least twice since leaving the house.

"What's wrong?" Sera, the tech overseer hired for the job (and, coincidentally, Ran's girlfriend), asks, popping her gum as she leans obtrusively into Shinichi's space. She whistles and nods appreciatively when he shows the cupcake to her. "That's some high quality shit. It looks like it's from a bakery."

It really does. Shinichi blinks down at it. For a second, he wonders how it showed up in his bag, but then he remembers Kuroba, who's basically healed but still traipsing merrily around Shinichi's house, doing something magical with a bag of flour yesterday. Shinichi had been shooed out of the kitchen, though. Inanely, Shinichi wonders how Kuroba procured cupcake liners with kittens on them.

"Oi, Kudou-kun, have you finally gotten yourself some sweet domestic loving? You're going all pink and blushy. It's adorable," Sera grins, elbowing him in the side. Her elbow is so bony it's basically the equivalent of a switchblade to the spleen. Shinichi winces and edges away.

"It's not like that," he tries. Sera looks, predictably, unimpressed.

"Don't forget I've got an inside source. I heard you've shacked up with the ex-Kid guy," she sing-songs, leaning back onto the back two legs of her chair. Shinichi has a strong, fiercely petty urge to kick her chair out from underneath her. (He refrains mostly because he knows Ran won't appreciate Sera breaking her skull open and would express likely her dis-appreciation via a fist to his face.)

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," Shinichi replies cagily, concentrating on opening the box. He's met with the scent of vanilla and sugar the second he gets the lid off.

"That's a yes, isn't it? Aw, Kudou-kun's first love," Sera coos, looking exceedingly pleased with herself when Shinichi blanches. Shinichi questions Ran's taste for not the first time.

In lieu of replying, he takes a bite out of the cupcake and makes a sound that he'll admit is mildly inappropriate. Sera recoils, looking slightly terrified.

"I think you should save that for when you see Kuroba," she says, eyebrows lifted.

"Shut up," Shinichi insists as he swallows, refusing to flush. "This is a really good cupcake."

"I'll bet," Sera responds with significance. Shinichi ignores her in favor of finishing the cupcake.

When he gets home that night, he finds Kuroba in the library, draped in cats and an old blue afghan as he flips through one of Shinichi's dad's books with a creased brow. Shinichi takes a second to enjoy the sight before he blurts out, "Thanks for the cupcake. I didn't know you could bake."

Kuroba glances at him and smiles. "Anything for you, darling. I hope you appreciated the hearts. They took a long time to do." He scratches absently behind Conan's ears, and Conan purrs, rubbing against Kuroba's hand. Shinichi is fairly certain his heart has melted.

"You didn't have to do the hearts," he tells Kuroba, mostly for something to say.

"But then how else am I supposed to romance you, darling?" Kuroba replies, smiling lasciviously, and Shinichi feels the back of his neck heat.

"You're an abominable flirt," he mumbles before backing out of the room. Kuroba watches him go with something approaching fondness.

Shinichi opens his bag the next day to discover a raspberry-lemon scone tucked in neatly beside his laptop, a sharply-edged powdered sugar heart emblazoned on top. The day after that is a slice of banana bread cut into another heart. And then there are chocolate espresso cookies and blueberry muffins and custard pastries, all heart-shaped. Sera's smiles get increasingly amused. Shinichi gets increasing certain that he may be in love with Kuroba.

* * *

If Shinichi had been given the opportunity to choose a hobby for Kuroba, he would've picked something exotic, like dove breeding or acrobatics or something. As it turns out, Kuroba's hobby is drawing. Shinichi discovers this when he happens to be cleaning the guest bedroom while Kuroba is doing the laundry and finds a few pieces of rumpled printer paper sitting on the nightstand, the view from the third story drawn in elaborate detail drawn on one and a roughly outlined sketch of Conan and Rampo sitting on the stairs on another. The sketches, for lack of a better word, are incredible.

"These are really good," Shinichi says, for lack of a better thing to say, when Kuroba walks in with a basket of folded laundry and sees Shinichi gaping at his nightstand.

"Oh, those?" Kuroba replies, setting the basket of laundry on the floor. He saunters over, and Shinichi swears he's swaying his hips unnecessarily. Hip swaying is never necessary, after all. "They aren't finished. Usually I'd paint them or something." He squints, rubbing a finger across the sketched trunk of the oak tree in the front yard. "Or at least try to detail them better."

"Still. You're really good," Shinichi murmurs, brushing his fingers over the comma shape of Rampo's curled little body. He wonders what it would look like as a painting. Maybe he could hang it in the dining room. Ran's always saying the dining room is depressing. "I can get you paint and canvases."

"You don't have to," Kuroba insists, eyebrows raised. There's a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, though.

"I want to," Shinichi replies. And he does – he comes home the next day with probably more canvases than necessary and enough tubes of oil paint to paint several rainbows and color spectrums. Kuroba looks up when Shinichi drags the supplies into his room, smile going wide and shocky in a way that makes Shinichi fumble a bag and spill about eighteen different shades of magenta across the floor.

"Well," Kuroba drags out, blinking and getting to his feet slowly as Shinichi exhales and props the last bag of canvases against the doorframe. "You actually delivered, darling."

"I'm a man of my word," Shinichi replies, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt rides up, and he doesn't miss the way Kuroba's gaze darts towards his stomach. "What kind of takeout do you want?"

"Curry," Kuroba answers, sounding distracted, but he's not focused on the new art supplies. He's looking at Shinichi with soft, melty eyes, eyes that make Shinichi go a little warm all over. It's the kind of expression one wears while looking at the Sistine Chapel, an expression of _how in the world did you come to be?_ , okay, Shinichi is allowed to be a little overwhelmed when Kuroba looks at him like _that_.

"Got it." Shinichi nods and runs for his life. He spends a good five minutes in the bathroom staring at his reflection, wondering what Kuroba sees in him. And then he abruptly feels ridiculous and goes to order the curry. They watch a subtitled Thai film about a pair of childhood friends, the end of which makes Shinichi tear up. Kuroba laughs at him for that, even though Shinichi is pretty sure he saw Kuroba wipe at his eyes surreptitiously at least twice.

A painting of Conan appears in Shinichi's room a few days later, and then there's one of Rampo sitting in a sink hanging up in the dining room. Shinichi takes it all in stride until he comes home from another planning day of his latest job and Kuroba is shut in his room, painting, while Conan and Rampo prowl around his closed door like two particularly fluffy and unintimidating guards, glaring at Shinichi when he gets too close. Shinichi is almost offended that the two of them seem so enamored of Kuroba, and then he realizes how hypocritical he's being.

"I told them to guard the door," Kuroba tells Shinichi at dinner, when Shinichi demands to know how his cats' loyalties have been bought. He sips serenely at his glass of water. "I also gave them about four catnip cookies each, so."

"They're only supposed to have catnip on special occasions," Shinichi gasps, scandalized, and Kuroba shrugs, his eyes laughing at Shinichi as the rim of his cup swallows his smile. Shinichi knows he never should've told Kuroba about the stash of catnip hidden in the cupboard over the fridge.

"Anyway, what are you painting?" Shinichi demands as he spears a lettuce leaf and chews it savagely. "What's so secretive about it?"

"Oh, you'll see, darling," Kuroba sing-songs in a Very Suspicious way. Shinichi narrows his eyes at him but leaves it alone.

It's not until after the job that Shinichi comes home to find Kuroba's door standing open, for once. He walks up the stairs and stops in the doorway, arching an eyebrow at Kuroba when he sees that Kuroba has a canvas on an easel and has covered it with what Shinichi thinks are spare sheets.

"Are those from the other guest bedroom?" Shinichi asks, momentarily derailed as he squints at the familiar rose design on them, and Kuroba squawks, "Darling, that's not the point!"

"What is the point, then?" Shinichi sighs, propping himself up against the doorway. Kuroba gives him a Kid-esque smirk that does unhelpful things to something in Shinichi's chest before he pulls the sheet off the canvas with a flourish. For a full second, Shinichi stares at it uncomprehendingly, and then he realizes what he's looking at.

It's a painting of Shinichi. It's Shinichi's face, mainly, though there's part of his neck and a bit of his collarbones. It's done in mainly pale blues and powdery whites, though there are defining lines in navy. In the painting, Shinichi looks – the only word that comes to mind is _ethereal_ , or maybe _dreamlike_. The crystalline irises of his half-closed eyes, the detailing of his lashes, the canyon-cut curve of his mouth, the ridges of his cheekbones – there's softness to all of it, a fanciful whimsicality. It's – he's – beautiful. Too beautiful. Idealized. Impossible.

Shinichi wonders, numbly, how much Kuroba must love his face, to see it like this.

He realizes Kuroba is waiting for a reaction when he turns and Kuroba is watching him carefully. Shinichi sees the gleam in his eyes, the anticipation in his grin, and can't help but smile faintly at him.

"This is incredible," he whispers reverently, and Kuroba beams at him –

"I'm glad you like it, darling."

– and everything's okay, for now. Shinichi is fine like this. As long as Kuroba thinks he's pretty, as long as he doesn't leave, Shinichi will be all right.

* * *

They've gotten to the point where most walls in the Kudou mansion have some form of painting on them ("Letting Rampo and Conan walk all over a canvas doesn't count as art, Kuroba!" "Who are you, the art police?") and they've stopped arguing about whether Shinichi is allowed to watch Detective Samonji reruns when there are televised magic shows (Shinichi gave in, although he maintains that since it's his house and his TV and his electricity being used, he should be able to decide what they watch). Kuroba has read basically everything in the Kudou family library and does the laundry while Shinichi does a few small jobs in the area. They know what to order for each other when buying takeout (Shinichi always orders extra hot sauce; Kuroba can't handle the sight, smell, or thought of fish, for whatever reason).

They're in the kitchen, Kuroba making cat treats shaped like little mice (which would've convinced Shinichi of his utter perfection if he hadn't already been sure that Kuroba was literally the best person ever) while Shinichi watches and hands him ingredients, when Hurricane Hattori blows in.

Now, Shinichi (though he won't admit it most of the time) does like Hattori. Their relationship started out with Hattori insisting on some convoluted competition to see who was the better point man, which Shinichi ended up winning (?), and then Hattori decided that he liked Shinichi and that they were best friends, all without Shinichi's input. Shinichi's become fond of him, in the way that people become fond of stray dogs that follow them home.

Yet Shinichi is still surprised when Hattori's head pops up in the kitchen window. He barely has time to blink before Hattori starts shooting. At Kuroba. Through the window. The cat treats are definitely ruined now, considering the healthy sprinkling of broken glass now in the batter.

" _Hattori_ ," Shinichi shouts as Kuroba dodges the spray of bullets reflexively, ducking into a crouch and managing to roll into Hattori's blind spot. Before Shinichi can stop him, Kuroba jerks a drawer open (a bullet grazes the top of his wrist, leaving a bloody stripe and making Kuroba hiss in pain; Shinichi yells, " _Hattori_ ," even louder) and grabs a kitchen knife. He hefts it in one hand for a moment before he whips around and throws it neatly through the newly-formed hole in Shinichi's window. Hattori gives a grunt of shock as it connects, and Shinichi hisses, " _Kuroba_ ," sounding reminiscent of a scandalized nun. Kuroba scowls back at him and cradles his wrist to his chest.

Hattori attempts to get another shot in. It dings off the cookie sheet Kaito had been planning to use and embeds itself in the ceiling. Kaito goes for another knife. Shinichi shouts, " _Both of you, stop_ ," so loudly he thinks he hears the remaining glass in the window rattle. Kaito freezes, santoku knife halfway into his hand.

"Hattori, get in here," Shinichi snaps when it's gone silent. Hesitantly, Hattori clambers through the window, his gigantic sniper rifle dangling from one hand and a paring knife planted in his shoulder. He's wearing a sullen expression. Shinichi glowers, unmoved. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"I thought," Hattori begins, and then goes silent when Shinichi's glare intensifies. He shrinks back a little.

"You're paying for a new kitchen window, and _you're_ going to be the one who has to tell the neighbors that we were playing an extremely loud video game," Shinichi barks, jabbing a finger at him before he collects Kuroba off the ground and drags him into the dining room. He busies himself with swabbing Kuroba's wound with antiseptic and bandaging it tightly. Kuroba gazes up at him the whole time, as if he's not entirely sure he's ever seen Shinichi before.

Hattori trudges into the dining room a few minutes later, looking very much like a kicked puppy. He's put his gun somewhere. The handle of the knife that's still sticking out of his shoulder bobs as he slumps down in one of the seats, glaring as he gestures at Kuroba's wrist. "That's literally a graze! You don't even care that I got _stabbed_?"

"Nope," Shinichi says childishly as he finishes tying off the gauze. Kuroba is beaming at him, which is admittedly distracting. "You're the one who started all of this."

"Hm." Hattori sulks. He eyes Kuroba with a look of extreme suspicion. "Why's he even _here_?"

"He got shot. I was providing a place for him to recover," Shinichi answers as he stalks over to dress Hattori's wound. He may yank the knife out a little (much) more roughly than necessary. Hattori squawks, but goes back to regarding Kuroba with obvious distrust as Shinichi slathers disinfectant all over the wound.

"You're Kuroba, aren't you," he says. It's not a question. Kuroba seems to know that, because he nods and reclines luxuriously. Shinichi gets a little distracted trying to wrap Hattori's shoulder, fumbling the bandages, because Kuroba's borrowed shirt rides up a little and his sweatpants slide down a little and he's got a nice stomach, okay. Shinichi's allowed to look. Looking isn't illegal.

"That's me. I assume you're Hattori?" Kuroba murmurs, smiling when Hattori gives him a poisonous look.

"Stop hanging all over Kudou," he says suddenly. Shinichi groans and snips the bandage, tamping the end down.

"This isn't the time for you to get jealous, Hattori."

He turns around just in time to see a look of horror cross Kuroba's face. It's gone in a second, a blink-and-you-miss-it, quicksilver flash of emotion that dissolves into a casual, vacant little smile that Kuroba turns on him when he realizes that Shinichi is looking at him.

"I'm sure you two have things to catch up on," he comments, getting to his feet. He sketches a bow at Shinichi. "See you later." He ambles out of the room slowly.

Shinichi and Hattori stare at his retreating back for a moment before Shinichi smacks Hattori directly on the bad shoulder. Hattori makes a pained whale sound and throws a wide-eyed, betrayed look at him. "What was that for?"

"You _know_ what that was for," Shinichi says, ignoring the way he sounds like a sullen fifteen-year-old, and stomps off to go seethe in privacy.

* * *

Things with Hattori and Kuroba are… tense.

"This is good," Hattori remarks when he tries Kuroba's cranberry madeleines the next day at breakfast. Shinichi is about to count the day as a success until Hattori blithely adds, "What's your secret ingredient? Freeloading?"

"What are you trying to say?" Kuroba demands. His jaw creaks audibly. Shinichi winces.

"I mean you're a freeloader," Hattori answers. "You're like some kind of parasite. You haven't worked a job in over a month. When are you going to stop leeching off Kudou, Kuroba?" He says Kuroba's name the same way one says _puppy murderer_ or _tax collector_. Kuroba doesn't appear to miss that. His top lip curls warningly. One hand twitches toward the cutlery drawer.

"Please, children," Shinichi groans before he gets up to go find some form of caffeine and/or alcohol.

"Now look what you did," he hears Hattori say as he's leaving, "you made him mad," and he's a little tempted to turn around and bang Hattori's head repeatedly against the kitchen table, because he's always sort of known Hattori is an asshole, but apparently he hadn't been aware of the _extent_ of Hattori's assholery.

"I'm not sure this is possible, but you need to stop being an asshole," Shinichi tells Hattori later, when Kuroba is sulkily mixing cake batter and banging the oven open and shut in the kitchen. They're standing in the library. Hattori has an air of affected innocence. "Why are you so against Kuroba? What did he ever do to you?"

"He hasn't done anything to _me_ ," Hattori hedges, stressing the last word meaningfully, and Shinichi narrows his eyes at him.

"You're trying to say something, and I don't know what it is," he begins, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose, "so please enlighten me."

"Kuroba used to be Kid, right?" Hattori says, apropos of nothing. Shinichi blinks and opens his mouth to ask what that has to do with anything, but Hattori steamrolls on. "And we both know you were obsessed with Kid."

"I was not," Shinichi denies, glaring feebly at Hattori.

"You had t-shirts."

"They were _ironic_ ," Shinichi insists.

Hattori looks unmoved. "Were the cell phone straps ironic too?"

"The point is that it wasn't an obsession," Shinichi half-shouts, hoping he's not too red in the face. "I just – admired him, okay. That's all it was."

"Right," Hattori responds, drawing out the vowel to express just how much he believes Shinichi. He crosses his arms across his chest. Shinichi stares at the carpet. "But anyway. My point is that you've got false expectations and perceptions about him, and I really doubt he'll be able to live up to them. You're going to end up getting hurt."

"You don't know that," Shinichi mumbles in a small voice. Hattori probably isn't wrong, though.

"You and I _both_ know that Kid – Kuroba – isn't the type of guy who sticks around for the long haul," Hattori continues on relentlessly. "It's obvious that he's the kind of guy who chases pretty faces just for fun. He was a _jewel thief_ , Kudou. If that doesn't make it obvious, then nothing does."

"Aw, Hattori, you think I have a pretty face?" Shinichi says, in a very transparent attempt at deflection. Because he knows, obviously, that Kuroba is the kind of guy who basically collects every pretty thing he sees, and Shinichi is his next target. Hattori's harsh expression softens, and he pats Shinichi on the head in an act of patronizing comfort that Shinichi normally wouldn't allow.

"I think you deserve someone who's interested in more than just your looks," Hattori answers, grinning. He slings an arm around Shinichi's shoulders, herding him towards the door, and that's when they both realize that they haven't heard any cupboards slamming shut in the past few minutes. They see Kuroba standing in the doorway at the exact same second.

There is a moment of silence.

"I," Kuroba begins, looking about as uncomfortable as Shinichi feels. Hattori looks slightly murderous.

"This is a private conversation," he snaps. "Stay out of it."

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Kuroba stammers, blinking quickly. "I wanted to tell you that the cake was ready, and I just…"

"You just happened to overhear," Shinichi finishes. He forces himself to meet Kuroba's eyes, trying to keep his voice steady. Kuroba looks vaguely panicked, sort of deerlike and crazed. Shinichi feels a bit as if the bottom of his stomach has taken an unplanned vacation to a far-off land, abandoning him to endure this awkwardness on his own. "Look, I'm sorry if this makes things awkward between us. That wasn't my intent."

"I didn't know you were a fan," Kuroba remarks out of nowhere, because that's obviously the biggest issue at hand. "Of Kid, I mean. Before. When I was Kid."

"I… yeah, I was," Shinichi admits, because, well, his pride is basically in pieces at this point, so it's a bit redundant to try to retain it. "I went to all your heists. I wanted to catch you, for a while, but then I started admiring your talent and…" He sighs. "I was heartbroken when you retired, and then I heard a rumor that you'd gone into corporate espionage, and… I followed."

Kuroba looks as if someone has stolen the floor right out from underneath him. "Darling, you…"

"Anyway," Hattori cuts in, and right, he's here too. "I think this is as good a time as any to tell you that you need to leave. Go to one of your safe houses. I know you've got at least one in Japan."

"Why would I?" Kuroba demands, brow wrinkling. Shinichi wants to cry, just a little bit. For the first time, he actually kind of hates Kuroba.

"Because you just heard that I'm sort of gone for you?" he says lowly, trying not to let his voice break. "I think it's pretty obvious why you need to leave, Kuroba." Shinichi realizes there's a burning behind his eyes that spells out bad things. Hattori is looking at him with concern, and Kuroba – oh God, Kuroba is looking at him as if he's never met him."

Shinichi breaks out of Hattori's grasp and runs. He barrels past Kuroba, who grabs for his arm and misses.

"Kudou," Kuroba calls after him, voice cracking on the second syllable, and Shinichi barely hears Hattori's, "Let him go, you asshole," before the front door slams shut.

The thing about dramatic exits, Shinichi thinks as he shuffles down the sidewalk, is that you never plan for the fact that it's freezing outside. He shivers in his thin t-shirt and jeans, wishing he'd grabbed a jacket on his way out.

 _You've got bigger problems than that_ , Shinichi reminds himself as he rubs his arms for warmth and breaks into a run. _Kuroba's going to leave because you made things awkward, and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again because you're an idiot. That was absolutely pathetic._ He exhales hard, breath fogging the air white, and runs until he's out of breath. The Kudou mansion is far behind him now. Shinichi resolutely doesn't look at it as he stops at a crosswalk to catch his breath.

And, of course, because Shinichi's life is actually a daytime drama in disguise as reality, it's at that moment that someone hits him on the head with what feels like a lead pipe and everything goes dark.

* * *

Shinichi wakes up tied to a chair. His arms, bent at an awkward angle across the stiff wooden back of the chair, ache sorely in a way that means he's been in this position for a long time; his head is doing something foggy and dull to his vision that means he's likely been drugged. Excellent.

He can't make out much of his surroundings, not with the way everything seems to blur together into a rush of dark colors and half-sketched shadows, but he thinks he might be in some kind of warehouse, judging from the rotting crates he can sort of make out on his left and right. Apparently, Shinichi thinks dryly, he's been kidnapped by someone with a distinct lack of creativity.

This isn't the first time he's been kidnapped. No, it's probably around the fifteenth or so. Jobs go wrong every now and again, and Shinichi always seems to end up strapped to something, getting his fingernails peeled off and whatnot. It's never anything pleasant, but Shinichi's survived this long. He isn't too worried. He may have fought with Kuroba, but Hattori will figure out that something's gone wrong when he doesn't come home.

"You awake?" Shinichi almost jumps at the sound of a gravelly voice coming from behind him. He manages to focus his eyes long enough to see a man in a fedora and a trench coat come stand in front of him, bushy eyebrows low over his eyes and expression hard. _Oh_ , Shinichi thinks with some surprise, _this is Kuroba's Snake, isn't he_ , and wishes he'd done something about him earlier.

Snake starts off, unimaginatively, with a sharp slap across Shinichi's cheek that turns his dry mouth into his shoulder, his skin smarting and the chair rocking precariously from the force of the blow.

"Tell me where Kuroba is!" Snake shouts into his ear. Spit sprays the side of Shinichi's face, and Shinichi winces.

"And why would I do a thing like that?" he asks, craning his neck in a vain attempt to wipe the moisture off his face. He eyes Snake speculatively. "Why do you think that I know where he is, anyway?"

"I heard some rumors that he's been shackin' up with you, Kudou Shinichi," Snake sneers, leaning down so they're eye to eye. Shinichi pulls back as much as he can. He's rewarded with a fist to the stomach that makes him gag, tears welling up reflexively in his eyes. Snake's breath is hot and disgusting when it blows against Shinichi's neck. "And so I thought to myself, why don't I try and get some information outta that Kudou guy? He's soft, ain't he? All soft and pretty-like. He can't take much of a pounding." He pets Shinichi's face condescendingly. "I think to myself, won't it be easy to find out where Kuroba's gone if I ask Kudou?" He grins. "Won't it be easy, Kudou?"

"I think you've gotten a little confused," Shinichi says, trying to school his breathing. How did Snake not figure out where Shinichi lives – and, consequently, where Kuroba's been staying? "I don't know where Kuroba is."

"Don't gimme that bullshit," Snake snarls, lifting one hand threateningly. "I been all over this goddamn country, and I couldn't find that slimy bastard. When I heard you two shacked up, I knew he had to be at your place. But God knows where you live. I don't got time to search all over Tokyo." His eyes narrow. "That's why you're going to tell me now, Kudou. Got it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shinichi says, clenching his jaw. This time Snake flips open his trench coat and yanks a switchblade out of his inside pocket. Shinichi only has a second to see the edge gleam wickedly before Snake sinks the whole thing into his thigh. He can't help the scream that claws its way up his throat.

"Tell me where Kuroba is," Snake shouts, reaching down to _twist the knife_ , _God_ , before he pulls it out again, and Shinichi's vision wavers for a second. He's shaking, he realizes, and when he looks down, his lap is soaked in blood. Insanely, he thinks that the stains are never going to come out of his jeans.

"I don't know where he is," Shinichi gets out around a jaw locked in place. He forces himself to inhale and exhale. In and out. Breathe.

Scowling, Snake presses the blade to Shinichi's throat. Shinichi swallows reflexively and feels his skin split against the sharpened edge, dripping blood all over the knife.

" _Where's Kuroba_ ," Snake yells, crazy-eyed, and Shinichi responds, as steadily as he can, "I don't know." He shuts his eyes and waits for the knife to his side or his arm or wherever Snake has decided looks good. Maybe if he's lucky, he'll pass out from the pain.

Instead, he hears Snake take a step back, his shoes making a low, sinister tapping sound against the concrete of the floor. Shinichi forces his eyes open just in time to see Snake drop his knife back into his pocket, exchanging it for a vial of… clear liquid? Something settles at the bottom of his stomach, because that definitely doesn't bode well for Shinichi.

Snake seems to notice him watching, because he gives Shinichi a terrifyingly wide grin. "Have you ever played with acid, Kudou?" he asks, advancing on Shinichi as he uncorks the vial with sure, sharp movements, and Shinichi, for the first time, feels legitimate terror rising within him.

* * *

When asked later, Shinichi will say he doesn't remember what happened, and he's not completely lying. He only remembers a few things: the stinging, inescapable burn of the acid on his skin, the way Snake's face looked through glazed, black-tinged vision, the distant echo of his own screams. He thinks it may be some kind of self-preservation instinct: the memories are damaging to remember; therefore, forgetting them is for his own safety.

His first clear memory is of Kuroba appearing out of nowhere and shooting Snake in the head. The red spray of blood is the brightest thing Shinichi has seen in a long time, and it wakes him a little, gives him a reason to try to keep his eyes open. Hattori's face is the next thing he's aware of, Hattori's face and Hattori's voice as it rings in his ears as he shouts. Shinichi has been dizzy from blood loss for the better part of – however long he's been here, and his head lolls back when Hattori unties his wrists.

"Kudou," Hattori yells, trying to get him to keep his head up. "Kudou, talk to me."

"Sorry, I," Shinichi slurs before he passes out unceremoniously onto Hattori's shoulder. He hears Kuroba's panicky voice yelling something just before everything grays out.

When he wakes next, Shinichi is lying in a hospital bed. The sheets are stiff and cool against him. Everything seems too bright, too white. Shinichi can tell from the hint of pressure around his thigh that his leg has been bandaged. For a second, he doesn't remember the acid – and then –

One hand flies up to touch his face, meeting only gauze and bandages. Shinichi feels his stomach tie itself into a knot. He – oh –

"Kudou!" someone shouts, and Shinichi turns his head mechanically to see Hattori standing in the doorway, looking almost teary-eyed with relief before he races over to the bed. His mouth shakes as he looks down at Shinichi. "Kudou, how are you? I'm so sorry I couldn't get there sooner – it's all my fault –" He gives a quarter-turn towards the door. "I'll go get Kuroba; you probably want to talk to him –"

"Hattori," Shinichi gets out from his sandpapery throat, "how – how bad does my face look? Underneath the bandages, I mean." He winces the second the words leave him, because it's a stupid question. How good could his face look when he had varying types of acid poured all over it for hours? But he has to know, because Kuroba – Kuroba –

Taken aback, Hattori blinks down at him. "I…" He pauses to glance away. "You look fine." Which, in Hattori-speak, means Shinichi looks absolutely hideous.

"Right." Shinichi resettles his head on the pillow, staring resolutely up at the ceiling. He's not vain enough to be angry that he's going to be the subject of stares and gawking for the rest of his life. That, he could deal with. He's never cared a lot about what he looks like, and he's never cared about what other people think about him. But when Kuroba only liked him for his face…

"Kudou?" Hattori says hesitantly, and Shinichi realizes he's been quiet for too long.

"Hattori," he murmurs, tilting his head away to look out the window. It's a cloudy, overcast day, the sky a scraggly mess of white cotton and the wind blowing hard enough to make the building tremble imperceptibly. "Hattori, could you make sure Kuroba doesn't see me?"

There's a sharp intake of breath, and Hattori looks as if he wants to argue, but Hattori, because he's actually a very good best friend whom Shinichi doesn't appreciate enough, says faithfully, "Of course."

* * *

The first thing Hattori says to Kaito when he comes out of Kudou's hospital room is, "He doesn't want to see you."

Kaito wishes he was surprised.

"But he's okay," he insists, half-question and half-answer. "He's going to be okay." He thinks of the puddle of blood they found Kudou sitting in and the way his face had looked charred and red. "He's going to be okay," he mutters again, mostly to comfort himself this time. Something inside his chest seems to rattle when he breathes in.

"He's going to need rehab," Hattori informs him after a moment. Kaito glances over at him. He thinks his jaw is locked into place. "Who knows how well his leg is going to heal or if he'll ever walk again. And his face…" Hattori trails off, his eyes boring into Kaito's. "He's going to have scars, Kuroba."

The almost accusatory way he says it – as if _that_ , of all things, is somehow more important to Kaito than Kudou's _life_ – makes something in Kaito snap. "Who cares about some goddamn _scars_?" he shouts, making a nurse down the hall gasp and turn to stare at him with a scandalized expression. He ignores her, grabbing Hattori by the collar of his shirt. "I don't _care_ about _scars_ , Hattori, I care about the fact that I'm responsible for the fact that Kudou almost died, okay? I care that I was stupid enough to think Snake wasn't going to come for me and _Kudou's_ the one who has to suffer for it! Kudou didn't… he didn't even… he didn't even _do_ anything…"

He realizes his eyes are wet only when Hattori puts a heavy hand on his bicep, gently tugging Kaito's fingers away from his shirt. "All right," he says, rubbing at Kaito's arm reassuringly. "I got it."

"I can't believe that I – I," Kaito manages as he scrubs at his eyes with his sleeve. He takes a deep, rasping breath and drops his forehead against Hattori's shoulder. Weariness, lead-heavy and aching, settles in his stomach. "It makes sense that he hates me now," he mumbles into Hattori's shirt, forcing himself to inhale. "I'd hate me now, too. I've – I don't know what I'm going to do now, since he hates me."

Hattori surprises him by drawing him into a hug. It's sort of uncomfortable and stiff, a little like hugging a coatrack, but Kaito will take anything approaching comfort at this point.

"He doesn't blame you. He doesn't hate you. That's not why he doesn't want to see you," Hattori murmurs, sounding almost contrite, and Kaito only cries harder in response, because of course he doesn't. Because Kudou is the purest, _best_ person Kaito knows, the one Kaito wants to protect the most, so of _course_ he's the one whom Kaito's permanently scarred.

* * *

Even though Kaito knows that Kudou doesn't want to see him, he still sits at Kudou's bedside at night, when Kudou is sleeping. There's probably something creepy about that, but Kaito can't help himself – it's a compulsion, a physical need, to see Kudou breathing and verify that he's still alive, that Kaito hasn't killed the brightest point in his life.

 _Not killed, just brutally maimed_ , Kaito thinks dryly.

It's always peaceful at Kudou's side, mostly because Kudou sleeps tranquilly, drugged up as he is. The stark white of the bandages on his face contrasts with the flush of his skin, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets is the most beautiful thing Kaito has ever seen. The first few nights, he doesn't do anything but sit there and watch, but then he starts bringing a sketchpad. He draws the ripple of the blankets over Kudou's bandaged leg, the touch of moonlight against the paleness of Kudou's arms, the fall of Kudou's hair across the pillow, everything.

He always leaves before Kudou wakes up. He goes home and feeds Rampo and Conan and ignores the way they look at him with eyes that ask, _Where is he_? He bakes espresso cookies, because he knew they were secretly Shinichi's favorite. He falls asleep holding Shinichi's pillow. He's basically pathetic.

* * *

Two weeks later, the bandages come off Shinichi's face.

He stares into the hand mirror that Hattori brought him. He doesn't know what to think. Snake hadn't touched his eyes – Shinichi suspects he had been saving that for the very end, as a last-ditch effort – but his cheeks are more burn than skin, now, covered in uneven splotches of scarring that lead down past his jawline and fade away just at his collarbones. There are a few flecks of stray marking on his chest, little accidents that Snake hadn't bothered to correct, and Shinichi thinks his smile is definitely going to be crooked now.

Essentially, his face is ruined. Excellent.

"It's really not bad," Hattori remarks nervously, taking the mirror from Shinichi. He fidgets, rolling the handle of the mirror between his hands. "I think you look pretty badass, personally."

"That was definitely the look I was going for," Shinichi replies wryly. He leans back against the pillows. He probably should care more, he thinks, but all he can feel is a dull, stinging disappointment. After all, he's spent a lot of time thinking about what's going to happen now – whatever attraction Kuroba had towards him is probably gone now, but Kuroba is a good enough person that he probably feels guilty about the whole thing, which is not what Shinichi wants. Pity, especially from Kuroba, is the last thing he wants.

"I bet." Hattori swallows audibly. Shinichi glances at him with eyebrows quirked.

"Is there a problem, Hattori?"

"I just…" Hattori looks away. His face does something confused and pained, and he sets the mirror on Shinichi's bedside table. "When are you going to talk to Kuroba?" he asks, quiet.

Shinichi winces and looks away. To be honest, he knows he probably should've talked to Kuroba straight away, when he first woke up in the hospital. But it's gotten harder to even think about it as time has gone on, probably because he's had more time to think about just how much it's going to hurt to see Kuroba look at him with an apology in his eyes.

"I don't know," he answers, staring out the window at the slate gray of the sky. "Soon. Maybe."

"He doesn't care about the scars," Hattori blurts out, and Shinichi turns to frown at him.

"You've been discussing this with him?"

"You should've seen him. He was really broken up about it," Hattori continues, twisting his hands together and looking desperately torn. "He thinks you hate him because you blame him for…" He waves a hand at Shinichi's… everything to wordlessly indicate _your messed-up leg and the fact that you now look like a partially melted wax doll_.

"As if I could ever hate Kuroba," Shinichi sighs, shutting his eyes as he presses back into the pillows. "I don't blame him for any of that. It wasn't his fault that nobody thought we should try to figure out what Snake was up to. I just – I don't want to see him."

"You don't want to see him, or you don't want him to see you like _this_?" Hattori mutters, probably trying to be quiet enough that Shinichi doesn't hear him and failing miserably. Instead of replying, Shinichi pretends to fall asleep. Hattori gets the message soon enough and leaves, flipping the lights off as he goes.

Shinichi dreams that Kuroba comes into his room and sits in the visitor's chair. He thinks he wakes up in the middle of the night and catches sight of Kuroba bent over a sketchpad, brow furrowed and pencil skritching fervently across paper. But when he wakes up in the morning, there's no one there, and Shinichi closes his eyes against the odd mix of disappointment and relief that floods through him.

* * *

Things come to a head three days later.

It's around late afternoon. Shinichi is sitting up in bed, flipping absently through a copy of _A Study in Scarlet_ that one of the nurses procured for him, when the door to his room slides open. Shinichi looks up, expecting Hattori or maybe Ran, who's been scheduled to visit after she finishes a job in Bel Air, but it's neither of them. It's Kuroba, who's looking at him apprehensively with a canvas tucked under one arm.

For one insane, ridiculous moment, Shinichi has an urge to dive under the sheets to hide his face, but he knows, intellectually, that it's too late. Kuroba has already seen him, and his expression unreadable. Shinichi's stomach does a complicated maneuver.

"Long time no see," Shinichi finally says, mostly to break the silence. He shuts the book in his lap and smooths the sheets over his legs before he manages to meet Kuroba's eyes again. The urge to cover his face is growing. "Did Hattori let you in?"

"Yeah, but don't get mad at him. I convinced him to let me talk to you," Kuroba answers, crossing the room to sit down in the spare chair. Upon closer inspection, he looks – well, not healthy. There are dark, haunted shadows beneath his eyes and the indication of gauntness to his cheeks. Shinichi wonders if he really feels that guilty, if he's been up nights pitying poor Shinichi with his melted face and banged-up leg. The thought makes him flinch.

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" he asks, folding his hands together. "You look terrible."

Kuroba lets out the strangest sound, a gaspy breath of air combined with an exhale. "I can't believe you're the one who's saying that to me," he murmurs, and Shinichi instantly draws back, stung.

"I know I don't look the way I used to," he starts, sounding icy to his own ears, "but –"

"That's not what I meant," Kuroba laughs, mirthless as he looks at Shinichi. The curve of his bottom lip is shaking just a little, almost unnoticeably, and his fingers tighten where they're clutching at the canvas lying across his legs. "I mean that you're the one who's been tortured and stabbed and in the hospital for weeks, and you're worrying about _me_ , the one who got you into that situation in the first place."

Shinichi scowls, bewildered. He feels a little wrong-footed, as if there's a part of the conversation that he's missing. "It wasn't your fault. None of that was your fault. Neither of us knew that Snake was still out for blood."

The way Kuroba looks at him is – Shinichi is reminded of before, when Kuroba used to look at him as if he were a masterpiece. A hint of helplessness has made its way into his eyes.

"Kudou," he begins, expression so sincere and earnest that Shinichi is taken aback, "you – and Hattori, too – seem to be under the impression that I only like the way you look." He pauses, giving a frustrated sigh. "Looked. Whatever. The point is that you couldn't be more wrong." When Shinichi blinks at him, perplexed, he continues, "Yes, I'm physically attracted to you. I think that you're beautiful. But that's not why I love you. I love you because – because you're still so _good_. Like – you don't even blame me for the fact that you may never walk again and you've got scars. You're just – you're such a _good_ person, Kudou. So much better than I am, so much better than _all_ of us. _That's_ why I love you. I don't care about what you look like."

Shinichi already feels as if there's something large sitting at the back of his throat, but the feeling only intensifies as Kuroba carefully lifts the canvas out of his lap and turns it to face Shinichi. It's the painting of him that Kuroba did what feels like a lifetime ago – the portrait done in blues and whites, the one Shinichi knew was too perfect to be him.

But now – now there's a delicate latticework of silver across the cheeks and neck, uneven blotches of gray and smatterings of black curlicues. It should look messy and horrible, like how Shinichi knows his actual face does, but instead it looks even more delicate, like the filigree on a teacup.

"Shinichi," Kuroba says, uncharacteristically serious when Shinichi manages to meet his eyes, "I love you, darling. Not your face or your body. _You_."

And Shinichi can't help but smile – he knows the left side of his mouth pulls up higher than the other, and his right eye squints shut, but Kaito is still looking at him as if he's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen – as he gestures Kaito forward until he can press a kiss against Kaito's mouth.

* * *

Yoshida got into the whole underworld espionage business recently, when her mother was hospitalized and she didn't have a choice if she wanted to pay the bills. But somehow, she's managed to catch the attention of Mouri Ran, who's possibly the best organizer in the business, and her infamous team, which contains the likes of Hattori Heiji and Miyano Shiho and Kuroba Kaito and Kudou Shinichi.

Kudou Shinichi, she thinks a little sappily. She's most excited to meet him.

Unfortunately, Yoshida discovers when she gets to the headquarters (a safe house in Nagano), that Kudou Shinichi is nowhere to be seen. By the second day of working without a glimpse of Kudou, she throws herself into a chair to sulk for a little, clicking a few keys on her laptop and sighing.

Kuroba Kaito – who is constantly smiling and freakishly perceptive – plops down beside her. "What's wrong, Yoshida-chan?" he sings, ruffling her hair. Yoshida tolerates it, mostly because she does like Kuroba. She ran into him in Hokkaido before, and he didn't treat her too much like a kid, even if he did and still does like to ruffle her hair.

"I wanted to meet Kudou Shinichi," she sighs. Kuroba's hand pauses where it's resting on her head.

"Why?" he asks, and if his voice is a little more cautious than before, Yoshida doesn't notice.

"I heard he's _gorgeous_ ," she tells him, wistful. "And he's got all these scars, but they're from saving people from a burning building. Or maybe it was protecting someone from an explosion? I don't know. But apparently he's a really good guy. And he's got a cane, but there's actually a sword inside and the top sprays sleeping gas." Yoshida heaves a groan. "I want to meet him someday. He sounds so _cool_."

Kuroba's hand, which had gone still, drops from her head. "Yeah," he says, and he sounds so fond that Yoshida glances suspiciously at him, only to find that he's grinning stupidly and looking at his hands. "Yeah, he's all of those."

Squinting at him, Yoshida opens her mouth to demand and answer, but it's at that moment that Mouri calls from the other side of the room, "Kuroba-kun, your boyfriend is here," and Kuroba is on his feet in seconds, shouting, "He's not my boyfriend, he's my _fiancé_ ," even as he runs to the door.

Yoshida is about to go back to researching the target when she looks over at the door to see Kuroba herding a man in a suit over to the couch. The man is dressed impeccably, all Hugo Boss perfection, and he's holding a cane in one hand. But his face – Yoshida stares with some trepidation, because his face is – well, it's not pretty, ridged and leathery. She thinks it's a shame – what she can see of his neck is soft and pale, and his bone structure looks as if it would've been pretty, in another life. If this is Kudou Shinichi – and he must be; who else fits that description – she's a little disappointed, to be honest. He's not nearly as good-looking as she'd thought he'd be.

But then she catches sight of the way Kuroba presses a kiss to the corner of Kudou's mouth, the way he murmurs, "Darling," into his ear and tucks Kudou into his side, and thinks she must be wrong, because Kuroba looks at Kudou as if Kudou is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

* * *

 _(In case you were wondering, I got partway through this fic (to the end of the first part that's from Kaito's point of view) and thought, "Wow, I've been talking about how Kaito is physically attracted to Shinichi for like, the entire fic. Maybe I should try to make it... deeper?" and this was the end result. I feel as if I probably should've just kept it happy, but. Alas.)_

 **If you enjoyed this fic even a little, please consider leaving me a review, and I'll see you all soon! - Luna**


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